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“Did you expect that outcome?"

“No."

“I think we were a bit unprepared for what we received."

“That's putting it mildly."

Dr. Frank Trimble — disgruntled private-sector geneticist — was hunched over a tablet reviewing the telemetry from the monitoring equipment in the Reimonds' therapy chambers. His boss nervously paced around the control centre.

“Ms. Cain. We did it," he said, “never mind what state they're in. The gene therapy works!"

“I'm glad we finally have results worth reporting. That's not the issue. The issue is that we now have to take care of two — let's face it — mutant beasts, for whom the standard height and size of a person is more a guideline than a strict rule!"

“I know. The serum outperformed expectations."

“Frank, stop being so calm! It's really great and all that it outperformed expectations. But those expectations were, at worst, cosmetic changes to parts of the body that could be easily hidden or weren't visible from a distance. Parts Frank, parts, not the whole god-damn thing!"

“You knew we were going all-out on this one."

“Yes...yes, but I didn't imagine anything like what we saw."

“Well it's happened and there's no stepping back."

Lacey was pleased she still had a job, at least, once news reached her superiors. Frank was intrigued by the Reimond's transformation, which was to be expected for an unscrupulous scientist such as himself. Neither of them knew what exactly to do next though.

“You said we can use their homestead as a base, correct?"

“Not a base, an actual farm," she replied, “killed two birds with one stone on that account. Eric and Sandra live out in the sticks. Seeing as we acquired all their property when they ceded their right to independent existence it was obvious to myself and Carl that their land could be used."

“Then once Mr. Redweather has finished his grounds-keeping we can bring the lucky couple home. We — well, you — can keep tabs on our subjects as we put them to work."

“Work?"

“For someone who keeps the big picture in mind, you tend to forget huge chunks of it in stressful situations."

“I'm tired, just explain."

“Like you told me, they are farmers. They know how to work the land, grow food, et cetera. They'll have a degree of self-sufficiency, restricted of course, given they won't be allowed to wander."

“I remember now." The plan did come flooding back to her. Eric and Sandra, once changed, would maintain the new farm. Producing their own food, so Bovinex had one less expense to deal with. The couple's new size and strength meant they were even better suited to manual labour than expected. Tilling a field would be child's play to the hybrids.

“Sorry," she quickly added, “my mind is all muddled from lack of sleep."

“That's fine. It's been a strange week."

* * *

Lacey and Frank continued their meetings throughout the day, discussing a wide variety of topics. She was concerned with their intelligence, as the thought of having chemically lobotomised actual people appalled her moral sensibilities (what few she had). He was quick to advise her on their current state: dulled, but improving.

“Their human-level cognition is on the way to recovery. As you can see from the latest CCTV recordings, fine motor control has been re-established."

“I'm more worried about their inability to speak."

“Ah, well that would appear to be a temporary shock from the transformation. I'm confident they will be able to talk again, possibly even by tomorrow. With some differences though."

“Differences?"

“Their speech patterns will be affected."

“Affected how? Is it serious?"

“Nothing of the sort. Just a curiosity. They'll 'moo' more than normal."

“And what's normal?"

“For humans...ahem...not doing it at all."

“So they... will...be doing it?"

“Think of it like a tic. Like Tourettes."

“So you're telling me, in addition to turning them into monsters, we gave them cow-Tourettes?"

“Well, when you put it like that..."

“Are they going to notice?"

“I don't think so."

“Is there an explanation for why this would happen?"

“What do cows say after all? And we did just splice a bunch of bovine DNA into people. Some behaviours stick around. Fact of the matter is, they'll be 'mooing'."

“Lowing...it's called lowing."

“Uh huh." Frank paused, expecting an explanation for her obscure knowledge. Lacey resolved his confusion...

“When I was young, I had a Dolly's Dairy toy set. Model farm and everything. There was a picture book of animal facts I used to read a lot."

“Hmm."

“And if you're thinking how I got into this business was because of some weird obsession with farm animals, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

“Just wanted to be pedantic then?"

“Yes. Sometimes you have to lord it over your subordinates to stay sane. No hard feelings?"

“Certainly not."

“Will it get annoying? When they speak that is?"

“I hope not. I reckon you're not going to pay for speech therapy sessions to fix the problem. Having them able to talk at all is a blessing, things could have been much worse."

“How so?"

“Well, their cognitive functions could've been — let's say — slowed. I mean drooling-at-the-mouth slow. Herding them like actual cattle would be an awful job."

“What you're saying is...at least they can take care of themselves?"

“Yup."

* * *

The following day, with the Reimonds still in quarantine, Lacey and Frank got back in contact with the pair over the intercom system. Much to her relief, they were able to communicate. After a brief conversation, it was decided to patch through a microphone to each chamber, letting the couple speak to one another while they waited to be released.

Eric activated the intercom he'd been supplied, and anxiously spoke, awaiting his wife's response.

“Sandra?"

Over the speakers, he got his wish: “Eric...honey..."

“Moo!" he exclaimed with joy at the sound his partner's voice, they were both alive and well. “Sandra, it's so good to hear you."

“Same. They won't let you out either?"

“Nah. I'm stuck in the other room."

“Are you...different...now?"

“You mean my body?"

“Yeah."

Sandra spoke again: “Mine's...moo...like a cow's..." her voice trailed off, noticeably upset.

“Me too. I'm a bull now. Kind of a huge bull. Didn't think the serum could make me so tall."

“I want to see you."

“I know."

“I don't care what we look like. I want to see..."

“Moo." he lowed in agreement. Eric stood on one side of the partition wall, head resting against it's smooth surface as closely as his horns would allow. Unbeknownst to him, his wife did the same, as if by some cosmic coincidence their actions were in sync.

Sandra couldn't imagine what her husband now looked like. She could only conjure faint visuals of two arms, two legs, and a bull's head, all covered in fur. Nothing concrete however, which only made her more upset. She hoped they'd be together again soon.

Eric was similarly distressed. How much longer could he wait to see what they had done to his beloved wife? Would she accept him? There were too many questions.

Their silent laments were shattered as Sandra realised something else...

“Oh moo! Tommy! How long have we left him alone!?"

“It's okay," Lacey interjected from her station, “we have him looked after."

“Oh my God! What will he say when he sees us?"

“Sandra, honey, he knew what was going to happen to us. He'll understand."

“But like this? I don't think he realised we'd look like this!"

“Our son's a grown-ass teenager hon, he'll accept it because we're still his parents, and we know best." he replied jokingly.

They continued sharing a few jokes, employing some gallows humour and laughing off the worst of their predicament. As isolation continued to take its toll, the two hybrids were left counting the days until they could be released from quarantine.